


Take My Warmth

by crimson_snow



Category: Carry On Series - Rainbow Rowell, Simon Snow & Related Fandoms
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Cuddling & Snuggling, Enemies to Lovers, First Kiss, Get Together, Hypothermia, M/M, POV Tyrannus Basilton "Baz" Pitch
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-13
Updated: 2020-07-13
Packaged: 2021-03-04 23:33:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,023
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25244701
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/crimson_snow/pseuds/crimson_snow
Summary: All I can think about is the numpties.Cold. Dark. Being suspended in between life and death, falling off the edge of sanity, and the empty despair of realizing I would probably never see Snow again. Or maybe it was relief, I was never really sure.The cold here is different. It’s not a tricky thing with tendrils creeping beneath your skin, in between your ribs, nestling into your bones before you realize it’s there. It’s harsh and almost visible in its there-ness, loud and deathly silent and impossible to ignore. It burns in that way not even fire can, soaking through your clothes like they don’t exist.I never thought I'd die like this.
Relationships: Tyrannus Basilton "Baz" Pitch/Simon Snow
Comments: 11
Kudos: 208





	Take My Warmth

All I can think about is the numpties.

Cold. Dark. Being suspended in between life and death, falling off the edge of sanity, and the empty despair of realizing I would probably never see Snow again. Or maybe it was relief, I was never really sure.

The cold here is different. It’s not a tricky thing with tendrils creeping beneath your skin, in between your ribs, nestling into your bones before you realize it’s there. It’s harsh and almost visible in its there-ness, loud and deathly silent and impossible to ignore. It burns in that way not even fire can, soaking through your clothes like they don’t exist.

“This is all your fucking _fault_ ,” Snow growls, pacing and trembling like an earthquake, kicking at the stone walls while I huddle into my sweater, wishing more than I ever have in my life that I was anywhere but on the line between alive and not.

“How the absolute _hell_ is this _my_ fault?” I snarl, but my voice is shaking – from the cold, from the panic, I don’t know, does it _matter?_

He rounds on me, kicking a rock as he turns, sending it tumbling against the wall. There’s fire in his eyes, and I wonder if he’s going to go off again _._ Maybe that would make it warmer. No - this is a dead spot now, that’s not possible, and I can’t _think_ properly _._

“You made me go off!”

That’s true, of course. We wouldn’t be buried _Merlin_ knows how deep in this bloody freezing cave if he hadn’t exploded the whole hill. But-- “Would you rather have been killed by the dragon? Because that’s what would have happened if I’d let you keep playing with your little sword until it burnt us both to a crisp. _I’m_ not the idiot who got us summoned here by the _Humdrum_ , you should be _thanking_ me.” I hiss the words through clenched teeth, noticing idly the wisps of white my breath leaves in the air. 

“You think I _wanted_ to be transported to the Arctic?” Snow asks incredulously.

I roll my eyes, and it burns. “If we were in the Arctic, we would be dead by now.”

He throws up his hands and stalks forward the three steps it takes to cross the cave, and I wonder vaguely if he’s going to punch me. Strangle me. Merlin and Morgana, he’s a campfire. Even in negative-whatever, he’s burning up. It’s a cruel reminder of how very alive he is, and how very _not_ I am. _You’re so warm._

“What?” he asks, caught off guard enough that the question lacks heat, breath filled only with startled uncertainty, and I realize belatedly that I spoke aloud. I freeze. It’s certainly not the worst thought I could’ve let slip out in a moment of frozen delirium, but I still want to bang my head against the cave wall.

“Baz, are you okay?” Snow asks, and I’m so caught off guard by the genuine concern that I just stare at him, flabbergasted. Probably glaring, because that’s my default.

Ever since we agreed to the truce, we’ve been… not friendly, but cooperative, at least. But even at our best, he’s never actually looked at me with _worry_ in his eyes. I don’t respond. I don’t even know what he’s asking. Of _course_ I’m not okay – I’m probably going to die of hypothermia in a cave Merlin-knows-where, with Simon Snow, and honestly I would be fine with that, if it weren’t for the fact that _Snow_ is probably going to die too.

I shove that particular thought as far from my mind as I can manage.

“You’re shaking. A lot,” he adds, like it's not normal to be shivering when it’s so bloody freezing that I can hardly move my fingers.

“It’s cold,” I manage, blankly, then really look at him. He’s got his arms crossed, tight against his chest, but that’s actually the only physical sign of discomfort I can see. _Is he even human?_

I hunch over, clenching my jaw _hard_ to hold back an actual groan of pain when the freezing air redoubles its attempt to torture me (but not Snow, apparently) to death, and then concede defeat. I can’t physically take it, especially because I still haven’t fully recovered from those weeks in the coffin. I let myself sink down into a crouch, pulling my knees to my chest in the hopes of more warmth, and force the part of me crying from loss of dignity to _fuck off._

It’s a little better, but not much. I hear rustling beside me but don’t look up – I don’t want to know what Snow’s thinking –

And then something warm as sunshine touches me, and I flinch so hard I almost topple over backwards.

“Baz,” Snow mutters, exasperated, and he’s grabbing my shoulder roughly and pulling me against him, because he has his _arm_ around me and it’s just like that time with the stars except his only motive appears to be trying to _help_ me and hypothermia doesn’t have a chance, because I’m about to have a heart attack here and now –

“Calm _down,_ ” I hear, and realize I’ve frozen, still as a rabbit, not even breathing. Snow’s voice jolts me back to life and I shove at his arm, twisting to get free, even though that’s beyond the last thing I want. Snow sighs again, a heavy sound filled to the brim with exasperation and annoyance and the last flakes of anger from before and _something else_ I can’t quite read.

“Fuck _off_ , you absolute _nightmare,_ ” I hiss, masking the panic rising in my chest with a voice laced with hot irritation. “What are you _doing?_ ”

Snow just pulls me in tighter and I finally relent, feeling almost petulant. “You’re the bloody nightmare, Baz, _honestly._ ” His arm is warm around my back, and our shoulders and sides and thighs are pressed tightly together. It’s like something out of my dreams. Or nightmares, rather. I have no idea what is going on. “I’m trying to help both of us. Body heat. It’s a thing, don’t be so annoying.”

 _I don’t have any warmth for you_ , I think, and wonder why he hasn’t realized and pulled away yet.

“You’re an idiot, Snow,” I manage, and I think triumphantly that I sound relatively like I’m not dangling off the verge of a chasm of blinding panic.

“Well, you’re an insufferable prick,” he shoots back, leaning into me, and I notice with stark, blinding clarity that the words are almost fond.

\--

Snow shifts, and his cross brushes my neck. It’s been prickling at my consciousness since we got here, rattling around in my throat, but the actual contact burns enough for me to shrink away, hissing. He looks at me, startled, then his eyes skip down to his chest and he winces. “Sorry.” Snow actually looks ashamed, which is new and confusing and not something I can think about right now, or ever. He slips the chain over his head and tosses it the five feet across the dim cave, and I can breathe a bit easier. (He knows I’m a vampire now. Really knows. I basically admitted it. I should be panicking.)

(But he already knew, didn’t he?)

I feel him tugging at my collar, peeling back the fabric to look at where the cross made contact with my skin, and his fingers burn hot where they brush my neck, almost as harsh as the cross. Snow breathes out a sharp breath, white mist puffing out from his mouth. “Why didn’t you tell me you were freezing?” he asks, bizarrely accusing.

“Why does it matter?” I shoot back. “You’re not my _mother._ ” I flinch at my own words, lost. I can’t even begin to imagine why he’s talking to me like this.

Then he’s pulling back, and I almost gasp from the loss of warmth. I don’t, though. If he wants to leave me alone, fine, I’ll just die faster and escape the cold that much sooner –

Then he’s behind me, unfolding his legs on either side of mine, wrapping his warm, burning arms around my waist and tugging me roughly, bodily, into his chest, and I’m wondering if I already died.

“What are you _doing,_ you infernal—“

“Oh, shut up, Baz,” he growls, breath whispering along my scalp, like something from a fantasy. I’m pretty sure I died. Or perhaps I’m hallucinating. Because there is no reality in which Simon Snow holds me to his chest like he cares for a second if I live or die.

“This is pointless, you know?” I say, because apparently I’m incapable of shutting up and letting the world give me what it will. “We’re still going to die.”

“We’re not going to die, Baz,” Snow growls.

“No one’s looking for us.”

Snow’s arms tighten around me, in a motion that seems almost subconscious, and I realize he’s probably just as scared as I am. More, actually – I’m mostly just resigned to freeze to death by now.

There’s plenty worse ways to go.

“I’m trying not to think about it, actually, so if you don’t mind shutting up…” he finally says, and I shut up. One of his hands is clutching at the fabric of my jumper, like he thinks I might slip through and fall away through the floor. I wish, wildly, that this was happening somewhere warm enough to enjoy it.

I wonder what he would do if I kissed him, here, now. We’re both going to die, anyway.

“We’re not going to die,” Snow says, as resolutely as if he honestly believes he can bend the world to his will just by growling at it, and I think for a second that I spoke aloud again. No—we’re just both fixed on the same thing. It’s not exactly surprising, given the circumstances.

“Whatever makes you think that?” I ask, coolly.

He shrugs. I can feel his shoulders rise and fall behind me, muscles clenching and unwinding, tense from stress and the chill.

I sigh, the icy cold air stabbing my throat as it fills my lungs. _Needles_ , I think. “At least you won’t have to kill me this way.”

“I’m not going to kill you,” he says, words like a brick wall of _I won’t._

“No, because we’re going to freeze to death.”

 _“No one’s_ going to _die_ ,” he says, resting his chin on my shoulder like it’s the easiest thing in the world.

I wonder, wildly, if he’s delirious. He can’t be fully conscious and aware of just how close we are. The world isn’t that kind, not even on the brink of death. Because we’re properly cuddling now, we _are_ , it is _happening_ , and I feel like I’m going insane.

Simon Snow has wrapped himself around me, protecting me from the cold, and I’m in love with him.

I could turn my head and kiss him, right now.

I can’t keep telling him he’s wrong, no matter how obvious it is. I can’t bring myself to do that to him. “Okay,” I breathe.

He can’t die. I won’t let him.

\--

“How long do you think we’ve been here?” Simon asks, breaking the silence and jolting me out of a stupor. Everything _hurts._ From shivering, probably, in addition to just being _cold._

“Two or three hours?” I guess, but it could have been much longer. Simon’s shivering now, I realize. He hasn’t moved since he first sat down, and I’ve slowly relaxed into his warmth. I wish I could enjoy it without thinking about the inevitable

\--

“Baz?” I hear, and realize with a shock that I let my head fall on Simon’s shoulder. I jerk away, startled and embarrassed and wondering if I fell asleep – everything feels kind of fuzzy, so maybe – but, again, Simon stops me from getting away. I could overpower him, if I wanted to, but I really don’t.

\--

I’m shivering again, hard enough to ache. Apparently even the Chosen One can’t hold back the weather.

“Merlin, can you even feel the cold?” I ask, sharp enough that I can feel Simon’s jaw clench against my neck. He’s so warm, but that might just be the contrast against my ice-cold skin.

Simon unwinds one arm and traces a burning thumb along my neck, and I’m suddenly glad it’s cold enough that my cheeks are already pink, because even though I haven’t drank in almost twenty-four hours, I’m pretty sure my body would find a way to surpass that and paint my feelings all over my face.

“Hold still,” he mumbles, and then he’s leaning back just enough to pull off his jumper and shoving it roughly over my head, and I’m too shocked and too cold to do anything but slip my arms through the sleeves. It hangs on me, loose but maybe a little short, thick and warm and smelling like green fire and brimstone and sweet cherry scones. There are probably crumbs tangled in the fabric, I think, and I love him.

“Come here,” Simon insists, and I do - because we’re both dying anyway - turning to press my chest into his, burying my face into his neck. I want to kiss him. I think I will, soon, before the cold gets too deep and I forget what that means.

The cold is burrowing into my cells now, working its way up my spine and I’m shivering so hard I think I might break apart. Simon is trailing his hands up and down my back, sometimes rubbing roughly as if he thinks he can force warmth into my cold, dead body with sheer stubbornness; sometimes light and soothing as if… I don’t know what he’s thinking.

I pull my face back from his shoulder, wobbling a little, wincing at the sudden influx of freezing air. I’m so tired, but I can’t go to sleep yet.

“Baz,” he whispers, and his hand is in my hair, fingers cupping my scalp.

I lean into it, then kiss him.

His lips are hot, like every part of him, and they’re only stiff with shock for a second before they soften beneath mine, warm and welcoming. He’s done this before – even if I didn’t know that with clarity from watching him and Wellbelove go at it for years, I would now – but I’m _tired_ and everything is so thick and heavy that it’s tentative and wobbly and a little sloppy, because I can’t focus enough to try to copy him.

He’s so hot.

_Simon Snow, you’re so alive._

I can’t bear for him to die.

It’s over far too soon when I finally give in and collapse into him, letting my head fall back into his shoulder.

“I’ve wanted to do that for so long,” I slur, because it’s true and everything’s so cold and my brain-to-mouth filter doesn’t seem to be working right.

There’s a long moment when Simon doesn’t respond, but I don’t even worry about it. Then, “Me, too, I think. I guess I just didn’t realize it.”

I stiffen, _really?_ and _not true_ and _I wish I had been braver_ flickering through my head like sparkling silver fish in a stream, darting through the water almost too fast to see, far too fast to catch.

“Stay alive and we can do it again, yeah?” Simon promises, and I want to agree or nod or do anything, but the air is too thick and heavy.

There’s a period of silence and breathing and Simon shivering in his thin uniform shirt, and then everything goes dark for a few seconds. Or maybe it’s minutes, or hours.

Simon shakes me, hard. “Baz. Stay awake, _please._ ”

“I can’t think right,” I mumble.

Simon has his hands around my waist again, I realize. He’s squeezing tightly, enough to hurt, but I don’t really mind. He’s not as warm as he was before, and I wonder if I should offer to give him his jumper back, but I can’t make the words form on my tongue.

Another period of nothing. Lips pressed to my forehead, the top of my head, my cheek.

“This is just perfect,” I say, and realize with a hint of surprise that I’m speaking aloud. “Freezing to death. I guess that’s how you kill vampires.”

“You’re not going to die, Baz.”

I shake my head. “Take the jumper back when I die, okay? Don’t be an idiot. I know you want to be all righteous and whatever heroic nonsense, but just don’t.”

He doesn’t reply, and I slip back into darkness.

“Baz, wake up, _please_.”

Seriously? Doesn’t he understand that staying awake is so much harder than slipping away?

“Fuck you,” I mutter, start laughing hysterically, because Simon Snow is trying to protect _me,_ his sworn enemy, and how ridiculous is that?

I can’t even enjoy the feeling of Simon wrapped around me, it’s too fucking _cold_.

“Just let me go,” I slur, and then furrow my brow when he flinches beneath me, jostling my limbs.

“ _No,_ Baz.”

“I’m so tired, Simon.”

“Please, just a little while longer.”

Everything’s fading in and out, and I can barely feel Simon anymore. He’s really shivering now, and I feel absurdly guilty for letting him give me the jumper. _He’s going to die, too,_ I realize – actually realize – and the thought makes me want to throw up, or kill someone. The Mage, maybe, for not finding us even after all the trust Simon’s given him, or the Humdrum. All I can think about, all I can hold in my head for long enough to focus on is the cold – _so deep, it hurts, everywhere, like a horrible ocean_ – and Simon’s fingers tracing circles on my back, through my hair, under my shirt. 

The next time I’m conscious it’s only because of Simon diving back against the wall, and tumbling my body under mine, and then the world is moving and someone’s yelling and there’s purple, frizzy hair everywhere and then _Merlin,_ it’s so _warm,_ and I’m sinking into darkness again but this time it’s full of spelled heat and Simon Snow’s arms.

It’s the most wonderful thing I’ve felt since before the vampires.

**Author's Note:**

> So I may have used too many italics.
> 
> Btw my thinking is that someone noticed the new dead spot and the dragon and Penny said hey, I bet Simon's there.
> 
> I survive on kudos and coffee so please don't hesitate <3


End file.
